Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Pruning Time

Several years back, I delved into gardening. I did not have much of a green thumb, I killed a lot of plants trucked into the local Lowes. I learned fairly quickly that tropical plants thrive in Louisiana's heat and humidity. I built a greenhouse to care for some of them through our short winter month. After one trip to Baton Rouge, we rode back home with the Jeep so filled with tropical plants that we had to brush huge leaves back to see the roadway. Bougainvillea, Bananas, Palms, Birds of Paradise, Cane, Heliconias, Canas, and Hibiscus. I grew them all. I also planted Wisteria and Pyrostegia venusta vines to "tie things together, and to provide a canopy of greenery on a pergola over our den's huge bay window in the summer.

Over the past couple of years, the tropical garden has been largely ignored, left to it's own devices. The huge live oak in the back yard is again providing shade that will eventually kill off the lush growth. When I paid tree surgeons to remove the oak limbs from above the house, and to take the grand old tree down to the ground, my wife cried. I relented, turning it into a "poodle tree" instead. Now, like a bad penny, it's back.

I learned later that tropical plants are incredibly invasive. The Wisteria and Orange Trumpet vines not only covered the pergola, but also the rear of the house. Today, I cut the vines back to within a foot of the ground. They were overtaking the house, and getting to the point that I could not keep up with them, separating clapboards and lifting shingles. Hopefully, the roots will not send up shoots. My wife-mate may be pissed, but sometimes you just have to take the law into your own hands.

While I was out back performing my thuggish pruning, I noticed the wild violet lilies blooming. Maybe if I cut back that oak.......

Gun Bans in the UK

Raleigh DL-1 Roadster on Ebay

1981 Raleigh Roadster model DL-1 24" BlackShowroom clean 1981one-owner with AW gearbox, all original including Raleigh tires. As perfect an example of this classic bike as we have ever seen, well maintained by original owner.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Shooting At Sinkers

"A citizen just like a police officer has the right to defend themselves or others, if they're in fear of death or serious bodily injury and that right extends to using deadly force," said Capt. David Imhof of the Nashville Police. Damned skippy Cap'n Dave!

On April 26, 2008, two armed bandits entered Sinkers Wine and Spirits in Nashville Tennessee. Manager Clifford Baxter ducked into a back room to call 911 when he saw the two criminals with guns drawn. They did not want liquor. They did not ask for cigarettes. They demanded money. The two criminals stuck their guns in the clerk's face and then ordered two customers to the ground during their rampage.

They did not know one customer had a CCW. They did not know he had the willingness to use the concealed gun he carried. They did not expect that he would draw his weapon, engage them in gunfire and kill one of their criminal asses before they could complete their crime.

Yeah, I'm sure their crackhead baby's mama will be getting some air time bawling about how they were good boys who just wanted a loose cigarette when they entered Sinkers, but the manager and employees are telling a different tale. They are damned glad their customer carried a gun. They have plans to arm themselves in the future.

Mom-n-em's At It Again

Louisiana State Representative and Mom'n'em poster child Cedric Richmond (D-New Orleans) has once again introduced a ban on semi-automatic firearms, this time it is House Bill 68. He calls this bill the "Assault Weapons Protection Act", but lets be clear...... it "protects" nothing and bans lawfully owned guns, subjecting people who own banned guns to fines and imprisonment - with hard labor - for up to two years.

HB 68 would ban pump-actions as well as semi-automatics, and millions more firearms than the Clinton "assault weapons" ban of 1994-2004. Cedric's definition of "assault weapon" would include numerous autoloading and pump-action deer rifles, autoloading .22 rimfire rifles, some 19th century pistols, as well as many firearms with a "military-style appearance" used for self-defense, target shooting and hunting. He even preposterously makes the claim that these firearms are "equally as dangerous as machine guns and explosive devices." The bill goes on to ban firearm parts such as muzzle brakes, ported pistol barrels, and other commonplace firearm accessories, calling them "assault weapons conversion kits." Here is a list of just a few guns that his bill would ban:

Think this can't happen in Louisiana? Who would've believed that the New Orleans Police Department and other first responders to Hurricane Katrina would confiscate firearms from law-abiding citizens when they needed them the most? New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin (D) is on record, after a series of meetings with members of the New Orleans legislative delegation last week, as making this ban on so-called "assault weapons," a ban on your lawfully owned firearms, a priority of his administration during this current legislative session. He has been quoted as saying he will work with the National Rifle Association to craft a "workable compromise."

The NRA has said no compromise. None. More here, with info on the ballistic fingerprinting HB 75 as well as emails and phone numbers to Louisiana legislators.

Carrier

First......Two words........

Comcast Sucks!

Now that I am back online and have that off my chest, I have been watching the PBS series filmed on the USS Nimitz while the ship was deployed in 2005. I brings back huge memories. I ordered the DVD set. It's an excellent series. (Sidenote: I noticed the aviators of VFA 41 were toting Sigs.)

Back when I was in Uncle Sugar's Yacht Club, women were not allowed on board combatant vessels. It was considered to be a logistical compromise, and an unnecessary complicating factor in many ways. Limited space needed for fuel and ordnance being occupied by separate heads, berthing and stockpiles of maxi-pads. Decreased combat readiness with members of the crew becoming pregnant days before deployment. Fatal distraction on a ship that could lead to not only loss of careers, but of lives. For people who have never sailed in the Navy, the reality of being at sea for months with a mission of going to war if need be is a foreign thing. I would not expect them to understand my thoughts on the matter. I will simply say that if you have not humped 110 pounds of rusty greasy chain around your shoulders at a dead run for 12 hours a day for 110 days straight without a break, eating on your 12 hours off, sleeping on your 12 hours off, showering on your twelve hours off, and all the time wondering if this was your last hour before you lost your life to somebody else's carelessness, well, you don't have a knowledgeable opinion on the matter.

I usually keep that opinion to myself. The new politically correct Navy and Marine Corp is different from what it once was. My generation of sailors resolved conflicts with smokers. If you don't know what a smoker is, you are new Navy, bottom line. It ain't a burnt hot dog or a cigarette.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Jingles

I don't care for cats. I do not find their aloofness, or their reserved affection appealing. I sneeze from their dander. Their nocturnal yowling wakes me up from my slumber. They are not quite the pestilence of roaches, but they are not far off either.

Seven years ago, a grey kitten came down from the live oaks in our front yard, and into my sweet daughter's life. I tried to prevent it at first, but the look in those baby girl eyes (my wife and daughter's eyes) told me that would be a lost cause. So it was that Jingles became a little grown up lioness on our front porch. She hunted birds, and she kept the squirrels from gnawing into the eaves of our old house. She also hunted mice and would leave her prizes on our doorstep to make my wife squeal for me in the morning. Jingles would come bounding across the yard anytime my little girl came outside or exited the car, eager for her attention and affection. During the cold wet winter months, Jingles was allowed in my daughter's room at night, curling up purring among her bed clothes.

Little Darling loved Jingles, and that was good enough for me. Jingles loved Little Darling as well. My relationship with Jingles began with adversion, morphed into tolerance, and finally into affection. I found myself scratching her behind the ears as I came home from work.

This morning I called into work, telling the crew i would be late. My wife had found Jingles in the front yard on her way to do the morning musical automobile game we play each morning in our driveway. Jingles was gone. I awakened my daughter, and we buried her under the live oaks from whence she came to us.

Don't Bogart That CCW Permit

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Gas Stations

Pumping gas....At many gas stations, there is not a rachet in the pump handle to allow you to have both hands free while gassing up. You are on open display for every vagrant, criminal and gangsta wannabe, with your automobile unsecured, and you on the outside. I insert the gas cap in the handle at those times to keep my hands free. Here's why.

Memphis Tennessee. April 22, 2008. Charles Todd, 64, was filling a gas can at a BP gas station. A lawnmower was in the back of his black Toyota Tacoma. A criminal arrives in a a stolen gold Acura, gets out with a shotgun, and levels it on Todd, demanding his vehicle. Todd tells the carjacker his keys are in the gas cap. As the criminal is distracted, Todd draws his legally carried handgun, and fires on the criminal while seeking concealment behind the fuel pumps.

Berkhanu Fekadu was the clerk inside the gas station. "I heard the sound of guns, somebody shooting," he said. "I just heard Boom! Boom!" The criminal ran like hell, avoiding Todd's gunfire. Police do not believe he was struck by the gunfire. They have his accomplice in custody.

Misty Morning Ride

As the sun began to illuminate the horizon, I rolled my Raleigh One Speed out onto the porch and I pedaled off into a wet Louisiana mist. I was glad that I had chosen to put a coaster brake on this bike. Coaster brakes do not give up their braking ability on wet streets. Only myself and the paperboy were about at this hour. We waved at one another as we passed.

I had no scheduled cases this morning, even though I was on call. That is a rarity, and my beeper was quiet on my neck. It was a peaceful ride as my gumwall racing slicks skimmed the layer of dampness off the asphalt in front of them.

The Raleigh One Speed that I built is a wonderful cross between a racing bike and a cruiser. I don't know what you would call it, really. I was struck by it's tall, narrow structure as I dismounted to take a few photos about five miles away. It's a good looking, unpretentious bike, with all the right stuff and nothing unnecessary for pure cycling enjoyment.

Last year, when I decided to begin riding again, I discovered a part of my youth that I had forgotten. The hot summer days that me and my friends spent building bicycles from scrap for bombing runs down the Hill of Doom had been forgotten. This morning, I pondered how different things are for many kids today. If a bicycle isn't purchased at the mega-mart (at least, a bike store bike is preferred) it just isn't fit for them, in their eyes, to ride. They will never develop the appreciation of building a machine that they themselves will get on top of, and prove to themselves and others that they can not only defeat the Hill of Doom, with it's Dead Man's Curve and Bitchshova Gulley at the bottom, but they can do so on a bike of your own creation, risking teeth and limb. The legacy of Wilbur, Orville, and Sylvester seemed to be lost today.

Then, I remembered the guys who build their own fixed gear bikes and bomb through the urban streets of most major cities. I remembered the kids who build low rider monstrosity bikes and cruise at night. The old kids on Rat Rod bikes........Yeah, the gestalt of bicycling is not dead, just evolved.

Ugly Gun Sunday

I love the Lone Star state.. It's a land of big ideas, expansive personalities, Texas justice, and of course, Texas women. While a ten gallon hat can be a good thing, and greasy sticky bar-b-que can be delicious, occasionally the over the top attitude of Texans can result in horrendous hideousness.

Was the Texan that had this Colt engraved had more cattle than brains? Or is this Hank Williams Jr. or Flavor Flav's gat? This nickeled and gilded atrocity wears the brands of Texas ranches, making me suspect the owner was a rancher that was wondering what he should be doing with his extra greenbacks in an inflated cattle market.

I have to wonder......If a man is going to lay this kind of embellishment on a pistol, shouldn't he first chose a pistol with a classic non-enhanced frame? If he wants a beavertail grip safety on such a pistol, shouldn't the gun have a fitted one instead of the old Colt duckbill? The one saving grace about this pistol is a M1911A1 was not used. But perhaps it should have been. (Did I just say that?!!!) As it is, this pistol gives me the same head shaking response I reflexively give when I drive past an epileptically lit and brightly tinseled trailer park nightmare with Santa Claus and sixteen blinking reindeer on top at Christmas time.

Email.........

Several readers have requested a way to contact me outside of the blog's comments. I use my personal email for business and can not allow it to be spammed. So, I've set up a gmail account at treatmewithbenignneglect@gmail.com. We will see how that goes.

Why anyone would want to contact me is a mystery, I am not a gunsmith, I am not an attorney, I am not a marital counselor, and I am off the market for all those female types. Don't expect a quick response. I will do my best. I barely have the extra time available to blog, train dogs, ride bikes and blow away targets at the range after work. I can also be found on The High Road, and I can be contacted there by private messaging.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Prom Night

Chimney Mystery Revealed

Crap.......A few days ago, the noises inside the chimney subsided. I had hoped that the critters inside had vacated the premises. They had not.

Today, when I came home there was the aroma of death throughout the living room. I removed the damper from the fireplace, and poked around with a stick. Nothing jumped. I slipped on some size eight and a half Bio-Gel surgical gloves and tried to reach whatever was inside. No luck. Finally, I fired up my digital camera and began to blindly take photos.

I discovered no less than three raccoons in various stages of decomposition behind the back of the firebox. It seems the smoke shelf was never sealed off, and it was a brick pit approximately 30 inches deep. I strained to reach the rotting varmints. There was no way to reach them. I considered using endoscopy instruments, but they just would not be able to carry the weight. Plus, endo tools are not rigid, and I would most likely be removing the coons in chunks. Fishing equipment, gaffs, nets, none would be suitable.

I briefly considered squirting them down with kerosene and cremating the little bastards. Bar-b-qued coon must certainly smell better than rotting coon. There is, however, a capped off natural gas line for fire logs in the fireplace, and when I considered the risks of burning the house down or even blowing it to smithereens, I started to look at other options.

As the funk of decaying coonflesh affected my brain, I came up with a plan......For now, cover them with Great Stuff foam insulation. Make a layer approximately 12 inches thick. Then, take a day off work and fill the recess behind the firebox with concrete, burying the little rotten son of a bitches like Jimmy Hoffa.

Finally, I'm going to climb the damned chimney and cover the top of it with expanded steel. I'll seal that grate down with concrete as well. Then I'll stuff so damned much fiberglass insulation into the smoke chamber that it will be the most weather tight area of this damned house. To hell with it. We have a functional fireplace in the den anyway. The firebox of the living room chimney is painted with white enamel that will bubble and toast in the heat of a fire. That thing will never have a cheery blaze warming us as we sit around the hearth swapping stories in our old age. It's decorative. Instead we can watch Norm freaking Abram on the TV and shoot spitballs in his direction as we remember the dead coon days of yore......

Friday, April 25, 2008

Vivi

Blogging may be light this weekend. I am on call, plus we have a new member of our family/pack that must be integrated. Vivi is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. Like Darla, she is a herding dog, originally bred to herd cattle in Wales. As a youngster, she was selected for conformation, and holds several championships. Darla, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, has no tail. By contrast, Cardigan Welsh Corgis have a full, long tail.

Corgis are "droving" herders, driving cattle to market from behind. Often called a big dog in a small package, they are alert for predators, with their big ears rotating like antenna dishes. The Corgi was bred to be short so they could avoid the kicks from cattle which fly harmlessly over the dog's back.

Vivi's owner was recently diagnosed with brain cancer, and she could no longer care for Vivi. This evening we drove over to pick up Vivi, and she and Little Darling instantly bonded.

Ilsa is overjoyed to have a playmate that will actually play with her. Vivi is determined to try to herd Ilsa. Darla, always the alpha canine in the house, is pissed and aloof. Over the next few days, between cases at the hospital, I will be trying to get all three of them used to each other, and keep the transition to a new home a smooth one for Vivi.

Vivi will be Little Darling's first dog of her own. She has had cats, lizards, fish, and other critters as pets. It's time she learned the wonder of being one with a canine.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Ugly Gun Sundays..............

I see Mauser Medic is back to doing Ugly Gun Sundays. I had kind of picked up the torch for him while he was otherwise engaged. Now I'm wondering if I should let my participation dwindle off so as not to steal his thunder, or if all us gun bloggers should participate in the weekly meme......Whatcha think guys?

Pawn Shop Circuit: M-30

After work today, I drove over to Neil's pawn shop to see what kind of ordnance he had on the shelves. Only a 45 caliber Astra handgun and a slew of shotguns, muzzleloaders and deer rifles were available. I checked the electronics, someone had stolen our speakers at work, and I was looking for cheap replacements to screw to the walls. Neil did not have any speakers, but he did have an interesting bike.

I have yet to purchase myself a mountain bike, and hanging from Neil's bike rack was a Raleigh M-30. It looked like an older bike, and it was crusted with mud. Everything was there though, if a bit rusty. I looked at the price tag........$29.99. What?!! This was too cheap to resist. I took the bike down and Neil looked up from his newspaper in amazement. "You want a bike?" he inquired.

"Yeah," I replied, "I have been thinking about starting to ride one again, to get into shape and such." I flipped the bike and spun the wheels. They were true. The cromoly frame was straight. The brakes functioned. Heck, the parts were worth more than thirty bucks. I broke out my wallet, paid for it, and asked Neil to hold it for me until I got back with my bike rack. When I returned, I loaded the bike onto the rack, and I began to wonder if I was nuts. Heck it's a super inexpensive toss away bike. If it allows me to keep up with Little Darling on just a couple of off road trips, it is money well spent.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Momentos Morte

4”x5” camera made from Aluminium, Titanium, Brass, Silver, Gem Stones and a 150 year old skull of a 13 year old girl. Light and time enters at the third eye, exposing the film in the middle of the skull.

At one point in my life, I studied art. I was a painter and a printmaker. It is not uncommon for visual artists to study human anatomy through the use of bones, the very structure of the human body. For centuries artists have used human skulls as subject matter in works of art to remind viewers of their own mortality. I did this myself, keeping several skulls borrowed from the Biology Department in my studio, as well as remnants of a complete human skeleton. I painted canvases, etched copper plates and drew on blue lithography stones images of these human fragments. For several years they were among my subjects as I taught myself the nuances of the human body and condition.

I still keep a few of my worst paintings. A small series of paintings were of a young man's skull, and the skull of a toothless old woman, the wormian joints and socketless mandible revealing advanced age. I called that series of paintings "Comedy and Tragedy," a play on the brevity of life in memento morte style painting, but also the recognition of the capricious nature of life shown in the expressions of the skulls themselves.

When I was in Hong Kong, in little shops on Cat Street, Tibetan skulls would be for sale, with silver eyes, noses, teeth and other embellishments. Several times, I came close to purchasing one. It was not monetary reasons that kept me from acquiring one of those exotic pieces of artwork from another culture, but rather one of ethics. The suspicion that the Tantric offering vessel could very well be a faked desecration of a Cambodian refugee's remains was something I could not get past. I am glad that I never bought one of those elaborate works of art, although it would have been a centerpiece of the relics of my travels. Having an unwilling person's head as a souvenir just wasn't a burden I wanted to carry with me.

I suppose that is probably the most thought provoking aspect of this particular camera built by Wayne Martian Belger. I can not imagine a 13 year old girl, 150 years ago, a little girl very much like my own, giving consent for her skull to be used in this fashion. Nor can I conceive of her parents, assuming she had parents while she was alive, doing so. There is, for me, a disquieting sadness pervading this entire work, obscuring the artist's intent and even the photographs rendered.

Through a series of events, I eventually became the caretaker of two of the skulls I painted. I say caretaker, because that is the position I feel like the possessor of these items is. Tonight, these skulls reside in a case with old books and vials of small items collected from around the world. Even though these skulls were donated to "medical science" I felt and still feel a profound responsibility as I hold that which was once part of someones body, the very vessel of their thought processes and being. I will not elevate myself to a point of self righteousness from whence to judge another's ethics. We do not know if the person who once was, knows or even cares what happened to their mortal remains. For myself though, as I ponder the skulls in my possession I know what is right for me.

Church Auction

This El Diablo was built by Gary Reeder on an Old Model Ruger Blackhawk. It is chambered in .44 Special and has the Ruger replacement parts in the action. You can read more about the El Diablo here -

Note that the base price of the gun is approximately $400 plus the cost of the conversion, making this a $1700.00 value.

Gary Reeder Customs Guns has donated this gun to raise money for our Mission to Mozambique. We will be taking a Team from our Church into Mozambique in June and working in an orphanage.

ALL MONEY FROM THIS GUN WILL GO TO THE MISSION TRIP THROUGH THE CHURCH. The winner of this auction will be able to get a tax receipt from the Church for however much over the value of the gun they bid.

The winner of this Auction will need to send a check or money order to the Church, made out to "Christ Chapel" with " Mozambique Mission" in the memo area. Please contact me for address, phone number etc.

The winner will also need to send or fax a valid copy of the FFL where the gun is to be shipped to Reeder Custom Guns.FAX - 928-527-0840PHONE - 928-527-4100

Upon confirmation of receipt of the money from Christ Chapel, Reeder Custom Guns will ship the revolver.

Thank you for considering this gun. The funds from it will go a long ways to help those much more unfortunate than ourselves.

Congrats Gordo & Todd!

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The Black Wolf

It was a most unusual morning.......Daddy placed me in the back of the Jeep, and I thought we were going to look for my toys. We do that a lot. He takes them and hides them for me, and then I have to find them. It's almost like getting new toys. It's a silly game, but as long as I do it with my Daddy, that's OK by me. I used to upchuck my lunch in the Jeep every time we went around the corner, but I have gotten much better control of my gastric contents over the past few months. I'm pretty proud of that.

Then Daddy put the Cujo Corgi in with me. I didn't know what the hell he was thinking......That bitch will take your nose off, both nostrils, with one damned bite! Maybe he didn't realize that I still stumble some in the back of the Jeep when his driving takes me all the way to maximum G forces. I was on a leash, but that little terror was totally unrestrained with me. I couldn't get out! He closed the door. Bars! BeooooooOOOOOOOW! This was certain death! I was starting to feel pukey all over again!

We drove to one of my favorite places, the combination dog food and rat store. It's really cool. They have different kinds of vermin in glass cages in front, and I get to sniff them up close without having to kill them in self defense. You get to study their little verministic behaviors. And the dog food......oh Boy! The dog food! it's like 300 flavors of crunchy joy all packed into one place.

Daddy didn't take me in.......He left me. Before long though, he came back, and what a surprise! He bought that bitch a nose cover. She looked really stupid once he put it on too. It didn't match her coat, and she looked like a chipmunk! Boy was she pissed. Ha ha ha. Na na na boo boo. Now I could slobber all over her, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. The queasiness was subsiding already.

I still didn't know what was going on.......It seemed like Daddy was driving forever. We had to stop several times, and he and the girls would go pee. Then he would get me and Corgi out to pee too. Corgi said we had to pee so we could find our way back home. That made perfect sense to me, so by the third stop I peed too. It was like a tanker truck was inside me. I peed so much my feet got wet. Corgi still looked like the masked marauder from parts unknown. She peed too.

I guess Daddy had a plan. Then the Jeep sound got different, and we started to go up into the trees. Then we were above the trees! I looked past the seats and saw nothing but clouds out the window! There was a great big gray spaceship we were flying towards, and I started to feel queasy all over again.

Cujo Corgi snarled at me, and I tried to put all four feet in the same corner to get away from her. That didn't work to well, because I fell right on top of her. She snapped.....gnashing those choppers back in forth......I thought I was going to be a quadrilateral amputee but then I remembered.....She had the nose thing on! "Ha ha ha You silly bitch! Here's some slobber for you!" I laughed as I drenched her back.

The Corgi couldn't see the gray spaceship that we were getting sucked up into because she was a shortcake. She had no idea that we were being attacked by moonbeamers. I tried to tell her, but she didn't believe me........Then I looked back up and we had evaded the creepy little aliens. That Daddy, he's some kind of Jeep pilot!

I started to worry about my bones and balls and stuff. Cats might break in our house and steal them. We had been away for too long. Then Daddy stopped the Jeep outside this La Quinta place and he went inside. I had never had La Quinta before. I started to salivate just thinking about it. The Corgi growled again, and Daddy came back out. Then he opened the back of the Jeep and let us out. One of the girls got the Corgi. He took me up some really spooky stairs that I thought were going to eat me at first. I mean those things were scary! You could see right through them. He had some string cheese though, so I went on up. I'll do anything for string cheese........

We went inside a little room, and I checked it out. It had an everlasting water bowl just like the one at home. Daddy peed in this one too. I don't know why he insists on doing that. The bowl was to high for the Corgi bitch, so I knew it was just for me. I guess Daddy was marking it in case somebody tried to steal it. He's a smart one, that Daddy!

Then, as I was checking the perimeter, I saw a big black wolf looking at me! I charged him, and thank God he was outside the window! I got right in front of the window and I gave him my best, most fiercest snarl. He was a dangerous looking one, that wolf. He was outside though, and I was inside. I sat down to let him know I wasn't leaving. He did the same. I looked back at Daddy to let him know we had a wolf at the door, but Daddy wasn't paying attention. He took some clothes out of a box and went to a door right beside the wolf.....Oh no! He started to open the door, and as I jumped up to stop him, I saw the wolf lunge out of the corner of my eye! It was coming in! I charged around the door ready to battle it to the death!

I hit a wall. That's my job, protecting my Daddy from his silly mistakes. I checked back on the wolf and he was laughing at me, so I laughed back. Then I noticed something.....The wolf had a Daddy too. As long as they stayed outside our room, I was OK with it I guess. The wolf started to look kind of friendly. He even wanted to play. This could be a good thing. I decided to keep an eye on him.

Daddy kept coming and going, I don't know what he was doing. While he was gone I jumped up on the bed and I ate some of his pretzels. Don't tell him though....He took me outside to see the grounds several times. I never saw the big black wolf outside, but I did see other dogs with their Daddies. It was pretty cool. We all peed in the same yard, and we went up and down the stairs over and over. It got to where I wasn't spooked by the creepy see through stairs at all.

Each time we went back in our room, my wolf friend was still at the window. He said he wanted to go out and play, but I never saw him outside. Finally, the next day Daddy cleared out our room we got back in the Jeep. He put the black mask thing on the killer Corgi, so I knew we were leaving. I whimpered a bit, so he took me back upstairs and into the room to say goodbye to my wolf friend. Wolfie was still there, and he told me goodbye too. Maybe some day I'll see him again. It took us a long time to get back home, but Daddy's nose was up to the task. We stopped at almost every place where we had wet the ground. Finally, when we got home, I was pooped. I still don't know what this was all about, but I hope we get to do it again sometime. It was fun!

Pippa, Grizzlies & Guns

I was referred from a link over at Breda's place to the saga of Pippa Bacca, an Italian peace activist and "artist." Bacca, whose real name was Giuseppina Pasqualino di Marineo, embarked on a mission for peace and world harmony. Her plan was to hitch hike from Italy to the Balkans and finally to the Middle East and Israel in a wedding dress. Her goal was a message of peace, trust, and "marriage between different peoples and nations."

A motorist in Turkey really liked her idea. He liked it so much, in fact, that he raped her, strangled her, and left her dead body to rot like so much garbage beside the roadway.

"She thought that in the world there were more positive than negative people, and that it was right to be trusting," said Rosalia Pasqualino, Pippa Bacca's sister, "Trust is a very human factor, and she believed that to understand people, you had to get to know them." Sadly, there are some people animals that a sane person does not want to know or understand. Pippa's friends and audience grieve for her, real grief for an idealistic life cut short by it's very idealism.

It is common that the young and naive think the old and cynical know nothing. I am reminded of an axiom among flyers though....There are are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. In our lives we take our choices. Our choices define us, and make us who we are, and unfortunately, sometimes who we were. The henious barbarism that brought an end to Pippa's misguided journey is by no means an abberation. It is common. Any person who has lived on the road can inform the neophyte traveler that caution and suspicion will keep the traveler alive and traveling. I, too, am saddened by the loss of Pippa Bacca, even tough I have never heard of her before now. No life should be snuffed out so cruely and so selfishly by the scum that prowls the Earth. The scum should be wiped out instead.

I cannot help but be reminded of Timothy Treadwell, the man who gained fame, and ultimately death by camping among grizzly bears. I can't help but wonder if at some point, Pippa Bacca might have a film such as this in her memory.

Rather than a movie memorializing your life, how much better is it to have a .44 magnum when you really need it? Or better yet, some respect for the dangers that can kill you, to be applied judiciously to your life so you will never have to bring the .44 magnum into play? The truth is though, while these two people were killed as a result of their absolute disregard for the dangers of their activities, malevolence can visit the most careful person. In that case, the gun becomes a life preserver.

Rest well, Pippa, I hope at least one of your friends learns from your death and buys a gun.

Damn..........

Ugly Gun Sunday

This Sunday we present one of the finest photographs of one of the ugliest pistols ever produced. The FP-45 Liberator is proof that ugly is truly in the eye of the beholder. With just 23 stamped steel parts, the FP-45 was a firearm designed to be mass produced during wartime. It's primary purpose was that of a cheap weapon to be inserted to resistance forces in occupied territories. A one shot assassination weapon, it fired a .45ACP round through a unrifled steel pipe, and was easily concealed to allow the assassin to get close enough to do the bloody deed. If the shooter lived through the killing, he could twist open the breech, and poke the spent shell out of the chamber with a stick. Then reload. Extra rounds could be stored in the grip.

The original delivered cost for the Liberator, with original box and ammunition was $2.40 per pistol. A FP-45 in good condition today will command around $2500-$3000 with the correct climate and collectors in the room. The original box will bump the price up an additional $1500. A comic strip instruction insert was included with the pistol as well as a wooden dowel for reloading. If these are present (original as shown by a hard to fake watermark), it would take $5000-$5500 for the entire package to change hands. But it is still ugly.

The FP-45 is proof that an ugly gun is not necessarily inexpensive, or undesirable. It's just ugly. I want one.

I cannot remember where I stole this beautiful photo from several years back, but if it belongs to to you, thank you for taking and publishing it.

The Kona 88

Kona's celebrates 20 years of making great bikes with their Eighty-Eight. What better way to celebrate the past than with a retro throwback? The Eighty-Eight sports a chromoly frame with an integrated locking glovebox, full fenders and a classic strutted fork. The single-speed Shimano drivetrain uses a coaster brake just like you remember as a kid and wide, swept-back bars that keep you upright and comfortably in control. And, check out the wood-anodized rims and the beautiful, always classy Brooks saddle!

Yeah.........I want one!

I think. I'm not so sure on examining close-ups of the bike. The front fork, although strutted, seems to be a typical modern day mountain bike fork. Same goes for the stem and rear fork. The crankset, is of course, modern. The Brooks saddle is nice, but why not a Brooks suspension saddle? The Kona 88 is a nice blend of new and old, and the locking glove box is trick, but at $699, I think I will wait until this "anniversary bike" is on the old bike market........It's nice to see another cruiser with a bull bike frame though. Compare it to my Raleigh PUB.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Three Birds, One .357 Magnum

Inmates are waiting to say hello to three sweet young men thugs who think the law does not apply to them. Say gotcha to three arrogant criminals who think they are smarter than anyone else. Mikey Rolla (the coward who abandoned his partner in crime as soon as resistance was encountered) and Jeremy Fuller (the greasy haired punk with the bruise on his forehead) were the team........breaking into homes and stealing honest citizen's belongings. They are thieves. Kyle Pousta, the smug looking piss-ant on the right was apparently their fence, selling guitars and electronics. Pousta's apartment was filled with stolen goods. He's a thief too.

During the night of April 14, 2008, Steve Reemer awakened to a unusual noise in his home in Buffalo, Minnesota. Getting up to investigate, Reemer found his bedroom door tied shut with a rope. Then a home invader in the hall told him they were going to cut the rope and come in with duct tape. Steve Reemer armed himself with his .357 magnum Taurus revolver.

Bursting through the door, Steve Reemer chased Mikey Rolla out of his home, placing several rounds into Rolla's stolen SUV as the tires slung gravel getting the hell out of Dodge. Going back inside, Reemer discovered Jeremy Fuller cowering in a locked bedroom. "Come on out! Put your hands on your head! I’ll show you a little about Hanoi!" Reemer shouted. Jeremy Fuller did not want to know anything about Hanoi. He bailed out a window, skidding across the ground as he ran into the night.

Law enforcement captured Rolla as he was trying to steal another car. Not surprisingly, Rolla led police to Fuller. Pousta was arrested after Reemer's stolen guitars and electronics were found in his apartment. The dots are not that difficult to connect. Guitars don't run off by themselves.

Speaking with news media after the break-in, Reemer said he didn’t want to shoot the fleeing Michael Rolla in the back. Reemer said that since they gave him a break and didn’t do anything to him while he was sleeping, Reemer wanted to make sure he saw Rolla's face if he had to pull the trigger. Reemer did, however, punctuate the stolen SUV with lead. I have a feeling that Steve Reemer possesses an understanding of how things get all twisty after the results of an armed confrontation finally makes it way before a judge and jury. He knows he wasn't given a break at all. He was given a break-in.

Conventional wisdom holds that it is best to not talk to the press after an armed encounter. The news media often gets things wrong, inserting their own bias into the story, and tainting the righteous outcome of a justifiable defense after a life is placed in jeopardy by criminals. Still, for those who study and learn from these types of confrontations, gratitude for the defender's comments must be expressed as we vicariously place ourselves in their shoes. The smile that Steve Reemer wears while speaking to the press no doubt conceals the personal violation he must be feeling after having his home invaded by criminals. That invasion is an affront to us all.

Texas Contrast

When seconds count..........The police will show up eventually and shine a flashlight through your broken window.

An Oak Cliff, Texas homeowner informed police that he was awakened around 1:30AM on April 14, 2008 by the sound of shattering glass. The homeowner grabbed his handgun and discovered two men inside his home, according to police. One of the criminals was still holding the board used to break through a window.

Police say the homeowner began shooting and hit one of the suspects in the upper torso and jaw. That suspect is in critical condition at Baylor Hospital. The other nocturnal invader bolted from the home and has not yet been found. The case will go before a Grand Jury, but investigators say the homeowner appeared to be justified in protecting his life and property according to the laws of the great state of Texas.

Fixed Gear Deathtrap

I'm selling a complete fixed gear. It is totally ready to ride and will probably kill you.

I pushed it into a bike shop recently to have the rear wheel trued. At the bottom of my receipt it read, 'My advice, get a new bike.' So, I am. And maybe you are too! He was reserved enough not to use the words 'death' or 'trap,' but I'm not!

The frame is probably an old Raleigh that could have been worth something. It's rattlecanned and chipping rapidly. The paint is almost completely gone where my car's bike rack grips. There are, however, parts of the bike that are still entirely painted.

Looking a little deeper, the headset is completely fucked. Unless you can ride a unicycle, you can't ride this bike with no hands. I'm expecting something terrible to happen in the headset in the next few rides that will pitch me onto the pavement. For the right price, this could be you!

Also, the pedals were never supposed to house toe cages. So, the cages are kind of ruined and inoperable. Sometimes when I'm skidding, my front foot will almost slip out and I'll get all wobbly before righting myself. During these moments, my eyes are usually plate-wide with terror. This could be your terror!

There are still front and rear brakes installed, because it was always kind of a half-assed conversion. These could definitely be removed, though. The bike shop guy even tightened up the rear brakes for me. You could be the only fixie rider in SF with fully functional rear brakes.

But the brake cables are also completely shot, so I wouldn't count on it.

The handlebar tape is falling off and one of the plugs is missing.

Also, I don't remember what kind of cranks are on it but the pedals are super long. Every now and then when you're riding they slam off the ground and get more ruined. Again, there's some aspect of terror here.

The gear ratio is 52/20. The rear tire is flat and the Presta valve is broken off.

This bike is what my brother affectionately refers to as a 'time bomb.' Why? Because there's no track hub or cog. Actually, there's a freewheel with loctite in it. So far, I've been able to learn how to ride fixed on this setup without it falling apart. But someday it will. And when it does, someone is going to get fucking screwed.

I paid $80 for it 8 months ago in Buffalo. Considering we're in San Francisco, the asking price is $350. I think that's only fair.

Heh.......

Note: The pics are just a couple of bike pics I saved from the 'net, not the bike listed. If the pics are your's and you want them removed, drop me a line. If the ad is your's good luck.....

Friday, April 18, 2008

Listening To Katrina

Ever consider a "bug out bag?" Ever wonder what it's really like to have to leave your home in an emergency? What do you take? What do you leave? Which way do you go? How the hell do you prioritize? Do you survive, or do you prosper? Or do you die? Two and a half years ago, the Gulf Coast was destroyed by Katrina. I still hear people in my own area talking zombie killing "I am Legend" fantasy bullshit when it comes to surviving a disaster. My own blog, this one, was started as a guttural response to hurricane Katrina.

Although I saw the results of what occurred, I fortunately was not forced to leave home. I did not have to escape with hungry children in tow. My family remained intact and safe. My blog morphed towards other concerns. Other blogs that chronicled Katrina have slipped away. One, "Listening to Katrina" is a resource for those who wish to learn the lessons of survival from the worst natural disaster in U.S. history.

"If you don't like guns, then we're going to need to have a talk about this later. My plan calls for me to take my primary defense gun (in addition to my pistols) with me. I, and I alone, am responsible for the protection of my Health, Wealth, and Family, and the firearm is a key instrument in that philosophy. A gun is not only wealth, but the means to defend that wealth. I am not speaking to you from a theoretical standpoint. Get one."

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Pawn Shop Circuit: Laser Beretta

After work today, I drove over to Dave's pawn shop to see what was on the racks. A good amount of deer rifles lined the wall. I thought about perhaps buying one, scavenging the Leupold scope off it for a Ruger 10/22, and then reselling the scopeless rifle for more than I paid this in September. That was how I scoped all my Rugers, but I have nine Ruger 10/22s that I built, modified or adopted. I simply could not justify another one, even if the scope was free.

I peered into the handgun case, and the pickings were pretty slim. There was a Beretta 92FS with Crimson Trace laser grips. It was in pretty good shape, and the laser worked. I did not care for the laser activation button placement, but then, I do not care for laser sights either. In my way of thinking, if I have time to paint a red dot on a target, I have the time to line up irons. Every time I have shot with laser sights, it seemed as though I shot slower, and less accurately. I suppose someone could say it was a lack of practice, but I wonder just how much practice one needs........I figure I've used them enough to know I shoot better with real sights. I would rather concentrate on avoidance, tactics, and the use of cover and concealment, as well as shooting a threat if need be. For the person who wonders "What if you are injured and can not physically align your sights?" Well, what if your battery goes dead when you need it most? We can "what if" ourselves to death.

Back in 1992, in the panic right before the assault weapons ban, I purchased a new Beretta 92FS for $560. I still have it. Since there would still be military and law enforcement full capacity magazines available, it seemed like a safe bet. Who would have thought there would be the dreaded "Law Enforcement Only" magazine selling for ten bucks a pop a decade later? I was fortunate enough to purchase a couple of full capacity mags at fair prices, and I also converted a two heel release 92S magazines to use with the 92FS.

Back then, the Italian wondernine had supplanted the venerable 1911 as the US military's sidearm. There were a lot of people who decried the change, who sought to find anything wrong with the Beretta possible, as though enough complaints would change the course of events. The Beretta grip was too fat. The round was anemic. The open slide fouled with sand. You name it. The truth is, bad press from hard head old gun writers and bad magazines plagued the M9. Yes, the slide cracked the back of it gave a SEAL a nose job while firing umpteenthousand hot rounds incessantly through the pistol. The pistol was redesigned to be stronger as a result. The locking blocks on the M9 eventually needed replacement. Newer pistols in the Beretta 92 series have plastic composite crap parts added now. I'm glad I got my Beretta 92FS when I did. It still shoots as reliably as ever. With the rising cost of ammunition, I may find myself shooting it more.

The Cat's Paw

Nebulae, like cosmic clouds, inspire the imagination when it comes to naming them. This firey mass is the Cat's Paw Nebula visible in Scorpius. At 5,500 light years distant, the Cat's Paw is an emission nebula with a red color that originates from an abundance of ionized hydrogen atoms. Alternatively known as the Bear Claw Nebula or NGC 6334, stars nearly ten times the mass of our Sun have been born there in only the past few million years. Pictured at right, the end of the Cat's Paw nebula was imaged from the Blanco 4-meter Telescope in Chile.

Xavier is a Registered Nurse who specialized in complex wound care. He has practiced for over fourteen years in his community. He often provided nursing service in areas where law enforcement refused to enter without back-up. Xavier now works in surgery.
Xavier has been an avid shooter for over 30 years. He strongly supports the 2nd Amendment, opposes gun control of any sort, and carries a weapon 24 hours a day.
Xavier is known on various internet gun forums as XavierBreath. He is married with three children, and is moderated by an apathetic one eyed cat, a goofy Golden Retriever, and a stalwart German Shepherd Dog. One day, he hopes to be deserving of them all.

Domari Nolo

Xavier can still be emailed at
treatmewithbenignneglect@gmail.com
He might read your email.
He might delete it on sight.
He might publish it and comment on it.

The Five Rules of Concealed Carry
1. Your concealed handgun is for protection of life only.
2. Know exactly when you can use your gun.
3. If you can run away -- RUN!
4. Display your gun, be prepared to go to jail.
5. Don't let your emotions get the best of you.